Chapter 12: Mommy Fearest

ontacting Mommy was a relatively simple affair, particularly in a place with so much magic laying around. The little clown purposely made a little mischief, so her magic human friend would spill his breakfast on his shirt, which always meant he tossed his shirt aside; he couldn’t stand being in dirty clothings.

‘Pippin, cher petite, papa est occupé en ce moment, je viendrai te voir après le petit déjeuner. Va voir George, il jouera avec toi.’

He didn’t even notice her take his red-stained shirt with her, and Pippin went to her room, spreading the shirt out on the floor and putting her hand on the magic red spot to call Mommy….

‘You know, torture is the least effective method of getting information,’ Aix said, retreating into facts and data because they were the safest thing in the world. They never betrayed you.

‘People will say anything to make the pain stop,’ Aix said, eyes tightly shut, waiting for the blow as she came toward them. They were genuinely surprised when it didn’t come, and opened their eyes to see the hunter had actually stopped herself.

‘I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t know what René told you, but he’s a vampire, they’re not nice. This isn’t fucking Twilight or something.’

‘God, why is it always Twilight,’ Aix said, rolling their eyes. ‘There’s lots of perfectly good vampire stories that were famous before Mormon Propaganda But Make It Hep. Personally I grew up on Blade, and LXG.’

‘Okay, fine, it isn’t those things either. He’s bad news, okay. He just made a power grab and—’

‘Van Helsing is looking for me,’ Aix said, and it shut her up; it also, Aix found out a second later, meant she was now pointing a gun at them.

‘So,’ she said, in a very cold, very scary voice, with a gaze that turned Aix’s insides to ice, because he knew what it meant—that was the ‘I’m turning you into an object so I can hurt you’ gaze. ‘You’re bait, then.’

The shadows started whispering, and something moved a few yards away, tipping something over. The gun moved to point at it, and Aix saw the shadow of a squirming, horned thing that marginally looked like a goat’s head on top, with many tentacles and just as many breasts; and seeing that made Aix feel… safer. Relieved. That was one of Cthulhu’s classmates, that was a friend….

‘Who’s there!’ the hunter snapped, tense enough to be dangerous. ‘Show yourself! I’m armed and I will shoot!’

Aix closed their eyes, terrifying as that was, and bowed their head down as tightly as they could in their difficult position being tied to a chair, bracing themself.

The warehouse was big enough and loaded with enough boxes of sound-absorbing goods that the gunshots were muffled, but they were still deafening at this range, and terrifying even as Aix was automatically counting them the way they counted everything. She’d had a pistol, pistols had thirteen rounds… and that was if the clip was full.

The screaming, the mad fear, the smell of urine, these were things Aix was used to from being homeless or in asylums—separately, not all at the same time. True, they were things Aix never wanted to experience again, triggered awful memories, but they were not a surprise, and that was something. Surprises were worse than anything.

The squelching, well, that wasn’t so bad at all really—and they couldn’t really hear it much, over the ringing in their ears.

The little clown had looked deep fake, and clowns… clowns had tendrils on their heads.

You know, he’s right, it really is different when you know how to speak to us. Yes, at least the origin of what you call clowns. Some of them. It really depends how many generations removed they are from my offspring. The little one that called me is half mine, a grandchild, truly.

Are you done eating that woman or whatever you’re doing, because I would like to open my eyes but I don’t want to see a dead human that’s all torn apart. Does she have a little thing like this? Aix pictured a cell phone of various kinds, and felt something the right weight and shape drop onto their lap. They also sensed, through closed eyelids, the lights going out completely. It was dark, and quiet, bone-deep quiet that only happened in a blackout.

Aix opened their eyes, but there was nothing to see, all was pitch dark. The smell of meat, and offal, and almost every bodily fluid there was, was in the air. Not choking, though—and it was disappearing fast.

I’m a bit tense right now, I’m sorry. I can’t hear anything, either. But Aix held still, feeling the little clown’s hands working at the duct tape. Once free, Aix slowly pulled their hands away, not wanting to frighten or accidentally swat the little clown, and picked up the phone in their lap, feeling blindly for which side was the screen, wiping the wetness off with their skirt before tilting the screen away from their face and turning it on. They were glad they were good at tech, because this was not the same operating system as their phone; but they were betting on this woman having the phone number of René in her phone… Aix found it, and texted.

They didn’t trust cell phones not to tattle, but they had always been perhaps too good at ciphers. Still, they’d talked with Michaela and the others about safety and code phrases for just this kind of occasion. They only hoped the emoji made it clear without being too clear. Real cops didn’t pick at clues or puzzles, they self-selected for people who just didn’t do that kind of thing.

Aix was well-used to the odd feeling of memories that happened Before The Trauma. They messed around in the phone’s settings until they could turn every single locational tracker on, and after getting their favourite secure private browser downloaded, they opened up a map website and emailed the address to Michaela and René.

They felt the little clown tugging at their skirt, and reached down a hand to offer, gently, seeing the Flash light up in the darkness with orange. ‘Hey bean,’ they said softly, not really able to hear themself. ‘I can’t hear you right now, but thank you. You’re a good joey.’

Aix stared at the word for a while, mouthing it to themself. V was the same letter that ‘va’ started with, so… this was probably a conjugation of ‘va’? Probably. Aix saw the little clown start to make her Flash blue and red, blinking like… police? ‘No no no,’ Aix said, terrified and trying to get up, only then realising that the clown hadn’t been tugging at their skirt, she’d been undoing the tape around Aix’s ankles. ‘No, not the cops, oh god not the cops….’ They momentarily panicked while trying to figure out where to put the phone, since they weren’t wearing any pockets, or anything snug enough to tuck a phone into, before deciding to just take their hijab off and use that, because it was a huge length of fabric and could be tied easily.

‘Beany bean, no flash, no light. Darktime.’ They only hoped the little clown understood. There was a tug at their hand, and they understood animals well enough to know she wanted up, and so carefully picked her up, balancing her on one hip automatically. She was only the weight of a small cat (or… maybe a normal cat, because Aix had only ever had very large cats), so it wasn’t hard to keep her there.

‘Come on, bean,’ they said, covering the tip of the clown’s tail with their hand, gently, ‘Darktime.’

The Flash dimmed, and Aix walked, glad they were wearing their boots, because their comfier house shoes were the kind that clicked with every step. They used what little they’d seen from the clown being lit up to discern somewhere to go, putting a hand against a wall of boxes and starting to walk away from the dark stain on the floor and the chair, Hermes, please don’t let the cops find me….

They still could only hear the high-pitched whine of tinnitus, much louder than normal, and they didn’t know how long they had until the adrenaline wore off and their usual pain started to set in, so they had to move quickly before their feet gave out.

The phone vibrated, and Aix froze, heart in their throat, for several seconds, visions of another gun attached to another trigger-happy monster with an authority fetish dancing in their head, before they convinced themself that the lack of light was a good sign, because normal people needed flashlights, and got the phone out again, immediately going in to turn the volume off and realising it already had been with another wave of relief that was probably going to make them sick later but for now… they checked the message.

Aix texted back quickly as they could with one hand, though the clown had her tail wrapped around their waist and was staying put mostly on their own, Aix’s Eldest Sibling instincts wouldn’t let them let go of her entirely.

It was terrifying, the prospect of purposely letting the cops find them; but Aix made themself remember what Michaela and the others had told them about how they had civilian identities in law enforcement and various other positions of authority. Michaela’s alias was Cora Matchett, an FBI agent.

The little glow was red at first, and slowly grew, revealing Aix was in a narrow corridor, not far from where they’d started. They looked down, and carefully lowered onto the concrete floor, sitting down, grateful for their full skirt. The little clown settled in their lap, unwrapping her tail and hugging Aix around their neck, starting to purr.

Eventually, they saw flashlights coming up the side that would reach Aix before it would get to the place where Aix had been tied up. Aix shifted, and the clown leapt out of their lap, and Aix managed to get back on their feet without ripping their skirt—something of a triumph, they were still rather bad about accidentally ripping skirts while getting up.

‘I can’t hear, I got shot at,’ they said, unsure if they were being spoken to, and leaned down, offering a hand toward the clown. ‘Come on, baby, uppies,’ they said, hoping the cops would interpret the clown as being theirs, as she climbed up Aix’s arm and back onto their hip. Aix held her there, and offered one hand out. ‘Since I can’t hear, maybe um, take my hand?’

One of them, the older man, did, and Aix was prepared to have to hurt themself speed-walking, but their sense of pain still hadn’t broken through the adrenaline and shock. There were lots of flashing lights that immediately triggered a migraine, and they were glad when Michaela immediately appeared in the sensory hell, with St Croix and another black person in EMT uniform, leading Aix over to sit and wrapping them in a blanket. St Croix stopped the other EMTs with his presence as one of them, and gently, slowly checked Aix over, sitting next to them and patiently pulling up a non-verbal communication aid on his own phone and typing out what he wanted to say to Aix, telling them every step of what they wanted to do to check Aix over, what questions they had, and St Croix stopped the other EMTs from doing anything beyond exactly what had been consented to, before going back to negotiate more.

Aix wanted to go somewhere dark and was having trouble concentrating with all the flashing lights, so Michaela and St Croix managed to get the cops to turn the lights off on their cars, and the EMTs to turn the lights off on the ambulance. Aix was worried about the little clown, who was as it turned out René’s little clown, recently adopted, and named Pippin. Aix did not want to go to a hospital, did not need a hospital, could not pay for a hospital. I just need to go home and rest. I need to buy replacements and turn off my debit cards. I need to rest. I need to take care of Pippin, she saved my life.

Michaela knew was gunshot deafening was like, and how much a singer like Aix needed to care for their hearing. She used her authority to get Aix clear of police and hospital custody, even after they found the gun and the shells, and didn’t find a body, just a stain on the floor and blood spatter. She knew what to say, she remembered all the exact right words to say to make sure Aix was lawyered up.

Pippin clung to Aix, picking up cues from St Croix and beeping censoriously and interfering the few times one of the EMTs got pushy, whacking away their hands with her tail. Eventually, they were able to get Aix in a very pretty old K-car, St Croix sitting in the back with them, and Michaela driving. St Croix kept touching Aix, petting their hair or shoulder and hugging them, because Aix had asked him to, because not being able to hear meant Aix felt untethered from reality, since most of their reality was sound.

Michaela hadn’t asked for the phone Aix got off the hunter’s body. Aix was sure everyone was asking what had happened, where was that woman, but Michaela and St Croix had shielded them from having to answer or even think about it.

Pippin was touching Aix’s face, and had allowed St Croix to wipe her hands off with a sanitation wipe to make sure she was clean. She was wearing a blue onesie that had an apple with a happy face on the chest, and little baby-sized black oxford boots with blue laces, which she was currently untying and taking off, so she could curl up in Aix’s lap more closely. Aix felt her purring, even though they couldn’t hear her squeaks and beeps and other noises. But they remembered her voice, from the Dreamscape.

They pulled into the garage that was secretly a big parking lot, under René’s club, and Aix was glad it was only lit with amber and red light, very softly.

And a wheelchair, a very nice one with the tilted wheels, was waiting for them. They got into it, and St Croix held Pippin, making her wait for Aix to get settled. Pippin strained, obviously beeping up a storm and squirming, trying to get to Aix, until Aix held out their arms and St Croix finally let Pippin push off them and leap onto Aix like a little sugar-glider, climbing all over them and the chair before sitting in Aix’s lap.

Aix just wanted to get out of their clothes and shower and sleep. They were sure there was blood on them, and they didn’t want to think too hard about that, were glad they were wearing mostly black, so they couldn’t see it and it couldn’t stain anything.

They wheeled themself, and was glad St Croix was behind them even so, just because he wouldn’t grab for the wheelchair, and would keep anyone else from doing it. St Croix had offered to help be Aix’s medical advocate on the trip, and Aix had said most of what they needed was people to give them space, warning, and time. After a frustratingly short time, their arms got tired and they stopped. St Croix also stopped, and put a hand gently on their shoulder.

‘Could you push me?’ Aix was suddenly very tired, and knew that meant the crisis mode was finally shut off, at least physically. St Croix started to push them, slowly, and Aix just held Pippin, who seemed very content to be held, purring louder and rubbing her face against Aix like a cat, which was extremely comforting, because Aix missed having cats, and had been talking with everyone about wanting a kitten as soon as they moved into their new place.

Michaela disappeared—off to talk to René, St Croix told Aix—and they went to a guest room that was all in beautiful black and dark blue, with a comfortable curtained canopy bed, and the first thing Aix did was start stripping off and heading for the bathroom.

‘Her phone is in here you can have it,’ was all they said, shoving the hijab at St Croix, before going into the shower, not even bothering to shut the door, because shutting the door would, ironically, make them less able to see someone coming into the room.

Aix casually dated the bathroom as being from the 90s, tastefully done in mostly-black mosaic tile with the signature scattered colour flecks that were so very of the time, a fake skylight lit by incandescent light (René had a lot of fake skylights lit by incandescent light, which Aix admired about him), and a roomy shower with a wall of glass blocks and an expansive bench along the other wall. Aix took their time, using the shower like they always did: to metaphorically clean away all the bad events and rebalance themself.² The fact that they could sit down helped enormously.

There was a glow that sparkled in the glass blocks, after a while, and Pippin peered around the edge of the glass wall, coming into the shower without her clothes on, her markings showing she wasn’t a baby, as Aix had thought, but had some kind of dwarfism. Baby clowns didn’t have stripes on their upper arms and thighs, but Pippin did, and they were bold and sharp-edged, not wavering imitations from her Mask. Aix had never had a clown, but they had studied them a lot over the years. There was so much about them that made people think they were cephalopods, or fish; but only birds had feathers, and clowns had feathers. And only primates had hands, and clowns had hands… and that didn’t go into the massively weird internal biology, or cognition (they could count but they also couldn’t count at all)…. Aix couldn’t see how you could not be interested in them, and now all that weirdness made sense: they were shapeshifters from another dimension.

Pippin sat down on the shower floor near Aix, her little feet out in front of her, and wiggled back and forth, obviously humming to herself. Aix still couldn’t hear anything, and it was frightening; but St Croix had said if they rested their hearing there was no reason to think it wouldn’t heal up perfectly well, given their medical history, and reminded Aix it was okay to be frightened, but that they had friends that could and would advocate for them to doctors and nurses.

They carefully lowered themself down onto the floor near Pippin, and started mirroring her. She lit up and sparkled in delight, her Mask turning to a smile, and seemed to know not to run around in a wet shower, but helped encourage Aix to focus on something else by letting them wash her, purring and sparkling, Aix hoped in reaction to how gentle Aix was with her plumage.

Soon they were both drying off with fluffy black towels, and Aix walked out into the bedroom again, wrapped in the black robe they’d found hanging on a hook in the bathroom, to see a very pretty boy with long red curls, sitting on his knees just inside the door, Aix’s rolling backpack by his side, a messenger bag’s strap across his chest. He had a collar on, braided black leather that looked like the sort of thing you could wear all the time, and was in dance clothes. From the muscles, he might have been a ballet dancer.

Pippin ran over to him with her tail up and cheerful, which helped Aix know this wasn’t an intruder. She also stopped and held out her hand like he was a cat, and he obligingly sniffed at her, then butted under her hand, and let her give him cat-style skritchies behind his ear, which was pointed. Aix approached, slowly, still trying to assess him, see what he’d do. He tilted his face up, opened his very blue eyes, showing oval cat-pupils.

Nodding. He’d looked like a he, but Aix had purposely asked in that order just in case things were not what they appeared; they hoped that was diplomatic and respectful, given the situation. ‘Can you—slowly—fingerspell what I’m supposed to call you?’

He paused, nodded, and made a circling sort of ‘go on’ or ‘more’ motion with one hand. Aix thought that out. ‘You’re here to… give me my things and also something else?’

Much more emphatic nodding. Aix giggled, feeling much safer. ‘Okay, you can come in all the way, then. I’ll get out my laptop and we can play pass the keyboard so we can talk more complicated.’

He slowly got to his feet, and was only a little taller than Aix; Aix took his own backpack by the long handle, wheeling it further inside, and Cameron went over to sit in one of the slipper chairs, getting a laptop out of his bag and occupying Pippin while Aix was busy with pulling apart the two pieces of their rather unique backpack, and pulling their huge laptop (they needed a large screen owing to their poor vision) out of the larger, more suitcase-like bottom part, since their new laptop was far too big for the small daypack. They set up on the beautiful tanker desk that was against one wall, and had a matching very roomy tanker chair to go with it. As they did, they noticed Cameron had a laptop already, and found a pen in one of the desk drawers, writing down their instant messenger handle and offering it to Cameron.

They got a message as soon as they booted up their messenger program, along with seeing a lot of other messages from their friends. They went to the new request first, seeing Cameron’s handle was Sineofthefeline, and had an icon of a fursona. That was promising.

Sineofthefeline: idk about wizard, I usually play warlocks and sorcerers—but yes to the rest. nwn René asked around the submissives in the Household and I got to be the one to help you while you’re recovering. There was a lot of competition! owo

Metasepia: Hehe omg. Well I’m sure everyone wants a debrief and I can get my thoughts together better in writing so… you can tell this to Rene or Mike.

Sineofthefeline: Understood. You don’t have to do this now, if you don’t want to.

Metasepia: No I’d rather do it when it’s fresh or I’ll forget. And writing it all out will get it out of my head.

Metasepia: I was just waiting for the pink bus at centre and charles when she grabbed me. I don’t know where my rollator or purse are. She duct taped my hands (well, wrists?) and put me in the back of her van and I tried to psionically contact Cthulhu but ended up in Pippin’s dream instead.

Metasepia: Then I ended up having a chat with Morpheus but that’s kind of personal—gist is, I asked him to contact somebody and pass along where I was and who had me, and I guess he did.

Metasepia: I woke up and was still in the van, hunter lady took me to a warehouse.

Metasepia: She definitely believed she wasn’t being scary and that I needed to be ‘saved’ or whatever, but also was acting like I was faking being crippled

Metasepia: anyway, I *think* she somehow saw or overheard me with Rene? When I finally dropped Mike’s name she pulled a gun on me and said I was “bait”.

Metasepia: Fun fact: apparently clowns are or are descended from the Thousand Young! So uh. So The Black Goat of the Etc turned up and I guess she uh… ate? Her? And also brought Pippin along, and Pippin untied the duct tape and I asked Mommy to give me hunter lady’s phone and contacted Rene.

Metasepia: So, uh… what happened on y’all’s end? Exactly? Just curious.

Sineofthefeline: Erastos got a message that you were in trouble, said it was from the gods. The hunters started investigating, and someone who had found your purse started texting Victoria, because she was the last person to send you a message, and said your bag was lost. I guess you don’t keep your phone locked?

Metasepia: Yeah no I don’t. I don’t keep sensitive info on my phone, that’s my security measure. Passwords and pins can be hacked, but you can’t find stuff that isn’t there.

Sineofthefeline: Well, this person wasn’t planning to steal anything, they were just worried because it was a full purse zipped closed and shoved in a trashcan, with medicine in it. They told us where they’d found it, and René had one of the boys pick it up for you.

Sineofthefeline: There is. And we’re glad you don’t lock your phone and that this lady found it. Victoria contacted us immediately, and it was only a little while later we got a text from Ana—hunter lady—but it was you, and you know the rest.

Metasepia: I hope turning on the GPS and location of the phone helped. That was me.

Sineofthefeline: It did help. Ana doesn’t normally have those on. Sorry about the cops; there was a report of gunshots from a bunch of people getting on the bus stop outside of the warehouse.

Metasepia: I appreciate Saintie and Pippin shielding me from the nurses too. ❤

Metasepia: Thanks for listening. I don’t really want to sleep, but I’m hungry.

Sineofthefeline: I can get you something to eat. What do you want? We have a full kitchen and a chef that knows how to cook around restrictions.

Metasepia: Oh okay. Well I’d love some shredded beef rather than ground beef, then. Spicy on the side so I can add it myself. No alliums or legumes, but lettuce, cheese and tomato are ok. Corn tortillas. Rice also ok. Cilantro on the side pls, whether I want it or not is sort of a crapshoot bx of migrainey stuff. Would enjoy some chips and plain guacamole (like, just a good avocado and a lil salt and lemon) if you have any lying around.

Metasepia: Icewater or mint water/tisane. I’d ask for proper tea but with how jangly I am I shouldn’t have caffeine. Can Pippin stay?

Sineofthefeline: Of course! She likes you. If she wants to leave you should let her, though; she’s sort of secretive when she’s not playing.

Sineofthefeline: I’m gonna go get your food taken care of, and tell René and Ms Van Helsing about what you told me, okay?

Cameron folded the laptop and tucked it back in his bag, leaving the room. Pippin had been playing with his hair until then, and after he stood up and left, came over to Aix for attention, patting their thigh. Aix was a bit overcome at the memory of one of their old cats—which they’d had to leave behind with their ex during their fleeing his abuse—and was glad to lean back and pat their lap, Pippin leaping up to sit just like their cat used to. They petted her and she purred loudly, hugging them, little black hands holding the lapels of the robe Aix was wearing. She yawned and curled up, tucking her tail around herself and falling asleep, her Flash going dim and her Mask settling to what must have been her ‘default’ markings—she had the tear freckles and sad pout of a pierrot, but her markings were mostly blue, which meant she had to be a zanni pierrot. Smart, but not domesticated, and definitely illegal.

Still, she was happy, well-fed, and she had saved Aix’s life, so unless they saw she was being mistreated, they weren’t going to say anything. Zanni were known for just showing up and deciding to live with people if they wanted; that was the whole reason clowns had ended up domesticated anyway.

NineInchNeedles: I’m so glad you’re safe, darling! That’s Pippin. René found her a few weeks ago—and ended up meeting *quite* a handsome young man about it.

NineInchNeedles: The gossip is that René is utterly smitten with him~ But you didn’t hear that from me.

Metasepia: She’s so cute. I wish I could have a clown but I worry I wouldn’t be able to socialise them enough because I don’t really get along with people about pets.

NineInchNeedles: anti-Italian. Immigrant families from Italy often brought their clowns with them, so of course clowns came to have a terrible reputation. You should ask Grand-mere about it, she was there and tried to organise the local ladies about it. It didn’t work :( but she tried. And if you really want a clown you can smuggle one in—immortals love them, so there’s a few in the city.

Metasepia: and even if a pet is illegal, people have them; I knew people in California with ferrets. I’ll think about it. And I’d have to ask Virginia ofc. And Cthulhu.

NineInchNeedles: Are you ready for a bit of a surprise—it’s good, I promise.

NineInchNeedles: Cthulhu found us! He ended up in the mausoleum in Arkham Cemetery, seems to have met a pwcca soon after emerging, and travelled with him to my family home in Sleepy Hollow. He and Squidge are getting along well; he says Squidge is very ill—apparently one’s mental state affects one physically far more strongly in his species, than it does ours.

NineInchNeedles: You’ll have a time getting her away from René, but on the other hand I genuinely think René would love to have you in Baltimore. You can take the night train up here, it’s only an hour or so. Don’t answer right now, but… think about it? With Snooty Miss A gone, Baltimore will be quite a nice city.

Metasepia: Okay this is a lot to think about but—NIGHT TRAIN?? AN HOUR???

Metasepia: ARE YOU TELLING ME THE VAMPIRES HAVE ACTUALLY BUILT A HIGH-SPEED RAIL???

Metasepia: not the vampires doing more for our infrastructure than the actual gubmint 😹

NineInchNeedles: Not just the vampires, but they do tend to be the richest and the land-owners. There was a great deal of cooperation from the Appalachian trolls and assorted nameless beasties, as the main Trunk of Many Things goes along the mountain range.

NineInchNeedles: René’s part of an unbroken line of vampires that came over to bedevil the English aboard the HMS Ark, so the Baltimore station is one of the oldest ones; it used to be the south terminal.

Before Aix could answer with how cool that was, and ask follow-up history questions, Pippin woke up, shifting to look at the door. She looked at Aix and jumped down, doing a little somersault when she landed, and going over to the door, reaching up for the brass handle. Aix figured someone must have knocked, and got up, making sure their robe was closed before opening the door to see Cameron, with their shiny vinyl purse with the logo of their favourite genre parody movie on it. It also looked sort of damp, like it had been wiped down.

‘Thank you,’ Aix said, hugging the purse to their chest. Cameron gave a little salute and headed back down the hall. Aix looked down at Pippin, who looked back up at them, tail swishing, and tilted her head. Aix shut the door, locked it, and set their purse on the desk, sitting down and opening the purse, checking everything inside. Their phone was still intact, and their wallet. They were still nervous, and opened up their bank account to check there weren’t any odd purchases.

They still needed to look at the unread messages from other friends, from their big group server; but that seemed insurmountable right now, and though they felt guilty about it, they just didn’t feel like anything their friends were doing was very impotant, just now. They knew that was the trauma—and that they should give themselves time. Nobody was going to think anything was wrong if they were just quiet for a few days, it wasn’t like they constantly kept people updated on everything, or that people would even know anything was wrong until told. All their friends knew was they were on a road trip and so any long silences could be explained.

Aix knew they needed a distraction right now, a puzzle or something fun to do, and that Victoria was giving that to them, and that was okay. They weren’t obligated to tell everyone everything right when it happened or else they were a Liar or something.

Metasepia: I used to live in Baltimore, for six months. In Canton. Lived with a creepy like… you know, I guess he was a Gor fanboy. with two pet women, and whom I always want to describe as ‘a few corpses short of being a serial killer’. It was ridiculous tbh. I didn’t know people were like that in real life. XD

Metasepia: I’m so glad you explained it to me because like… I was so confused about what I was looking at.

Metasepia: anyway, thinking about baltimore though like… well, we went to a boylesque show at Nepenthe last night but we didn’t arrive at the right time for the drag show at Below the Veldt

Metasepia: Which is btw the BEST name for a Hyena-run drag bar I’ve ever heard of in my LIFE.

Metasepia: but Baltimore’s public transit sucks compared to nyc. That’s a big thing for me. But like… if the train is an hour, if… hm. I could weekend here maybe? Split time? I feel like if I asked around I could find something to do and somewhere to live? Which is a huge deal.

NineInchNeedles: You destroyed the monster of Baltimore. You saved these people’s lives.

NineInchNeedles: They are probably planning a ticker-tape parade for you, darling.

NineInchNeedles: They also probably don’t want you to leave. You’re the replacement hunter now. You have the power.

Aix stared at that for a while, and felt their chest tight with panic; but it also felt sort of far away, and well, Victoria was right. They got up, and looked for Pippin, who was digging through their suitcase.

‘Bupbupbup no. No no no. Stoppat,’ they said immediately, picking her up. She gave them baby eyes and was probably making Sad Baby Noises too, but Aix couldn’t hear them.

‘Babybean, I can’t watch you right now,’ Aix said, realising they were too distracted, as they cuddled Pippin. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s go upstairs so you can play with someone.’

Pippin clung harder, winding her tail around them. Aix… sat down on the edge of the bed, and tried to think. Animals never did things for no reason, especially smart ones, and Aix was learned enough about animals to know that. They’d assumed she was bored, but was she?

Aix pet her, getting to know her plumage (they had no experience petting feathery animals), and gradually feeling her calm down. So, she didn’t want to leave him?

Oh, okay. Duckie is gonna be boring for a while, sweetheart. Duckie can’t play with you and doesn’t want you to be bored.

Okay, okay. How about we go and get some toys and things so you can stay in my room with me. Aix tried to convey that they were very glad to have her, they just wanted her to be well and not bored. Boredom was the worst thing you could possibly be.

She climbed off their lap and ran over to the wheelchair excitedly, which made Aix smile. It’s okay babby, I think I can walk upstairs better than I can wheel up there. And, now that they were thinking about it, they really wanted to not be alone. They got dressed in some pajama pants and one of their oversized hoodies, picking out the one that had the robot clown character from their favourite cartoon on it. Their new laptop fit inside a small backpack their estranged sister had apparently gotten them as a gift years ago, that their mother had passed along to them, and was the perfect small but flattened size for a laptop and the contents of a purse. They folded the laptop up and trasnferred their purse things into the backpack, slinging it over their good shoulder, and headed out into the hallway, making sure Pippin was with them. You’re the leader, I want to go up with people but stay backstage and out of the way. This was an easier idea to convey without words, and Pippin lit up pink and started a little march, Aix happy to follow at the slow pace.

① René was French, so Aix’s name didn’t mean ‘duck’ to him, it meant ‘water’, and Aix had talked with him about that the night before, when they’d met after the boylesque show.

② They purposely avoided therapy words for all of this at all costs. Calling it therapy words made the magic not work anymore.

Chapter 12

Mommy Fearest

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